• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

“Are you all right, ma petite?”

I stared at the bloody silver knife and shook my head. “I don’t know.”

“I did not mean for this to happen.” He helped me sit up, and I let him. The room had fallen silent. The audience knew something had gone wrong. They had seen the truth behind the charming mask. There were a lot of pale, frightened faces out there.

My right sleeve hung torn where I ripped it to get the knife.

“Please, put away the knife,” Jean-Claude said.

I stared at him, and for the first time I looked him in the eyes and felt nothing. Nothing but emptiness.

“My word of honor that you will leave this place in safety. Put the knife away.”

It took me three tries to slide the knife into its sheath, my hands were trembling so badly. Jean-Claude smiled at me, tight-lipped. “Now, we will get off this stage.” He helped me stand. I would have fallen if his arm hadn’t caught me. He kept a tight grip on my left hand; the lace on his sleeve brushed my skin. The lace wasn’t soft at all.

Jean-Claude held his other hand out to Aubrey. I tried to pull away, and he whispered, “No fear, I will protect you, I swear it.”

I believed him, I don’t know why, maybe because I had no one else to believe. He led Aubrey and me to the front of the stage. His rich voice caressed the crowd. “We hope you enjoyed our little melodrama. It was very realistic, wasn’t it?”

The audience shifted uncomfortably, fear plain in their faces.

He smiled out at them and dropped Aubrey’s hand. He unbuttoned my sleeve and pushed it back, exposing the burn scar. The cross was dark against my skin. The audience was silent, still not understanding. Jean-Claude pulled the lace away from his chest, exposing his own cross-shaped burn.

There was a moment of stunned silence, then applause thundered around the room. Screams and shouts, and whistles roared around us.

They thought I was a vampire, and it had all been an act. I stared at Jean-Claude’s smiling face and the matching scars: his chest, my arm.

Jean-Claude’s hand pulled me down into a bow. As the applause finally began to fade, Jean-Claude whispered, “We need to talk, Anita. Your friend Catherine’s life depends on your actions.”

I met his eyes and said, “I killed the things that gave me this scar.”

He smiled broadly, showing just a hint of fang. “What a lovely coincidence. So did I.”

7

JEAN-CLAUDE LED US through the curtains at the back of the stage. Another vampire stripper was waiting to go on. He was dressed like a gladiator, complete with metal breastplate and short sword. “Talk about an act that’s hard to follow. Shit.” He jerked the curtain open and stalked through.

Catherine came through, her face so pale her freckles stood out like brown ink spots. I wondered if I looked as pale? Naw. I didn’t have the skin tone for it.

“My God, are you all right?” she asked.

I stepped carefully over a line of cables that snaked across the backstage floor and leaned against the wall. I began to relearn how to breathe. “I’m fine,” I lied.

“Anita, what is going on? What was that stuff on stage? You aren’t a vampire any more than I am.”

Aubrey made a silent hiss behind her back, fangs straining, making his lips bleed. His shoulders shook with silent laughter.

Catherine gripped my arm. “Anita?”

I hugged her, and she hugged me back. I would not let her die like this. I would not let it happen. She pulled away from me and stared into my face. “Talk to me.”

“Shall we talk in my office?” Jean-Claude asked.

“Catherine doesn’t need to come.”

Aubrey strolled closer. He seemed to glimmer in the twilight dark, like a jewel. “I think she should come. It does concern her—intimately.” He licked his bloody lips, tongue pink and quick as a cat’s.

“No, I want her out of this, any way I can get her out of it.”

“Out of what? What are you talking about?”

Jean-Claude asked, “Is she likely to go to the police?”

“Go to the police about what?” Catherine asked, her voice getting louder with each question.

“If she